I have no problem being called a traditionalist sailor. I wouldn’t have made a brigantine schooner if I wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t embraced some technology that has swept like a hurricane through the boating world, particularly in the area of electronics.

Undoubtedly, many of these modern inventions have made boating much safer and more enjoyable, but they have also created a dependency on the gadgets themselves. Far too many boaters are failing to learn and use the methods that have served, and many times saved, seagoers for centuries.

GPS, without a doubt, is the greatest innovation in the past 40 years. It might rival the invention of the wheel. Even so, I still mark our paper charts every hour because, if power is lost, the chartplotter will conk out.

I still use a lot of other traditional sailing tools, too.

The Sextant

Only two satellites had been launched when we bought our first sailboat and set sail south, leaving England by the lee for our great Mediterranean adventure. There was a 12-hour delay in obtaining a position, which was not much use on a boat traveling at only 6 knots.

That’s why we learned celestial navigation with a sextant. I would take the sights, while my wife worked out the math and marked the chart. After four days of crossing the Bay of Biscay, we made landfall on the nail at Cape Finisterre on the tip of Spain. We felt a great deal of satisfaction in this achievement, and that same sextant still sits in its teak case on my latest boat, nearly 50 years later. Britannia’s sextant. There are other uses for a sextant as well, such as calculating the distance of an object like a lighthouse, but all have been superseded by the miraculously accurate GPS, with which we once navigated into the port of Oporto in Portugal in a dense fog and never hit anything either.

Still, if GPS failed the great majority of the boating public, I suppose they would pull out their mobile phones. They probably don’t even know what a sextant is.

Depth Gauges

My boat’s hull-mounted electrical depth gauge is nonfunctional at the moment, because of growth over the fitting. Britannia is also moored in the Intracoastal Waterway, which is shallow nearly everywhere and extremely shallow in some places. Some form of depth gauge is most advisable.

There are two substitutes for a depth gauge: a handheld, battery-powered device that’s a bit like an electric shaver and that needs to be held in the water to give a reading. On Britannia, this would need to be strapped to a boat hook to pass down over the 4-foot freeboard.

The other option is the classic lead line, which is accurate when set up and used properly, and can even tell you the nature of the bottom if you are about to anchor. And the beauty is, it’s never subject to power failure.

Bilge Pumps

Electric bilge pumps can automatically empty a bilge. They are ideal for a boat that is not regularly sailed, but the operative word again is electric. The boat’s batteries can run down, the pump can clog up, the float switch can fail to activate the pump, and so on.

As a backup, Britannia has a high-volume diaphragm pump operated from the cockpit. It empties a normal bilge level in a few manual strokes, and we often use it when we first get on the boat. It also has a manually activated 120-volt high-volume sump pump, which works from the dedicated generator battery.

A small bilge can also be emptied using a manual suction pump. And there’s always a bucket.

Steering

Most boats over a certain size have wheel steering, which usually communicates with the rudder by way of hydraulics. They’re easiest for manufacturers to install, and they only need an oil pump on the wheel, leading by hoses to a ram on the rudder stock.

Another method of steering uses cables running from a cog and chain on the wheel spindle through cables and pulleys to the rudder quadrant. Neither of these methods employs electricity, but they are not by any means failure-proof. Hydraulic fluid can leak out of the pump or the ram, and leaks can occur over time from badly installed pipes.

The pulleys needed for cable steering can corrode or jam from a lack of oil, but there is a certain peace of mind in knowing that a properly maintained cable system physically turns the rudder. And there’s always a tiller that acts directly onto the rudder stock, making it wise to have one aboard as a backup.

Autopilots

A hydraulic or electric autopilot needs an electrical supply. Hydraulic autopilots use an electric pump to circulate the fluid to operate the hydraulic ram that moves the rudder. There will also be a rudder angle gauge and a control box, also electrically powered. Britannia’s is an amazingly accurate device, and it has never failed yet.

But that’s because I treat my battery banks like a newborn baby, and I am conscious of power consumption when the autopilot is on but the engine is not.

Many cruising boats that ply the ocean trade winds use a wind vane mounted on the stern. It requires no auxiliary power whatsoever and keeps running forever—so long as there is wind.

Another backup that needs no power, except feeding from time to time, is called a helmsman.

Lighting

Britannia has LEDs, including for the long-range navigation lights. These LEDs use less than one-quarter of the power of a regular bulb and are just as bright, so long as the electrical power remains.

I have lived aboard with auxiliary oil lamps in the saloon and staterooms, in case of a power failure, but these lamps can be quite dirty if they’re trimmed too high or if they lack a heat shield over the flame, which can scorch the ceiling. They also require the storage of kerosene as fuel.

Charts

Paper charts are difficult to store and read in a cockpit, or on a small chart table. I still want them anyway.

On every ocean passage we make, the chart is spread out over the saloon table and marked every hour (more or less) with coordinates from the plotter. This will give us a fix if there is a glitch in the chartplotter.

It’s also a keepsake. Without such a record, a passage becomes just a means to an end with nothing to remember it by. Our most recent passage, 530 miles from Cape Canaveral, Florida, to North Carolina, is now a framed picture on our wall at home.

Fresh Water

Freshwater hose connections can be seen attached to many boats in marinas, especially if people are living aboard. Such a simple pedestal hookup has some advantages. The constant pressure saves using the boat’s water pump, and usually gives a greater and more even flow to faucets and showers. It also saves the batteries and is a silent operation.

But if a water pipe breaks or a connection fails, sure, the bilge switch would activate the pump, but the powerful rush of water would probably overpower the pump, with possible catastrophic results. This actually happened to me once. If we hadn’t come back within a few hours, the boat would have sunk.

I devised an idiot-proof (that would be me) backup using a water shutoff solenoid and a latching relay, which is just like a normal relay, except it stays activated even when the power source is removed. The solenoid is fitted in the boat’s inlet line and closes when the bilge switch activates it. Then, the latching relay keeps it closed, even when the bilge switch returns to an open circuit.

It’s a simple and worry-proof solution.

Parting Shot

Out on the water, especially on the open ocean, things can go wrong fast. Electronics and seawater don’t mix, and it is not possible to pull into a rest stop and call for assistance. It’s just plain common sense to have a backup available for the more important items, just like having oars attached to a dinghy in case the outboard fails. 

The post Buckets, Bilges and Backups appeared first on Cruising World.

As far back as I can remember, I have always enjoyed the challenge of finding solutions to practical problems. This was certainly the case when I started work on fitting out the first Aventura. As an absolute greenhorn in anything nautical, I was forced to come up with answers to complex questions in virtually everything I touched.

The boat had a center cockpit and aft cabin, and the wheel was too far from the rudderstock. The easiest and cheapest solution was to have hydraulic steering, but that meant I could not use the self-steering gear whose control lines had to lead to a drum on the wheel or to a tiller. The solution I came up with was to extend the rudderstock by way of a 6-foot-long, 40-mm steel bar to the level of the aft deck, and then fit a tiller to it. The lines of the Aries gear were easily led to it. We could steer with the wheel and the tiller.

Many of the solutions that followed were rather unorthodox, but they worked. I repeated several of them on my future boats, such as having a day tank for the engine. On a number of occasions, the easiest solution was to do without certain nonessential items, such as a diesel genset or freezer.

Going without a diesel genset was the easiest decision because we simply couldn’t afford one. Auxiliary diesel generators for cruising boats were still a novelty in those days, and only the largest boats in the South Pacific had one. Our electrical consumption was modest, and we often used paraffin lamps. We managed to charge our one and only battery by the main engine. Later, on Aventura II, there was no need for a genset because one of the twin engines fulfilled that role efficiently. Aventura III had an additional large-capacity alternator, and a wind and towing generator. By the time Aventura IV came on the scene, we relied almost entirely on renewable sources of energy by having wind, solar and hydro generators. As for Aventura Zero, her name reflects my aim to do away completely with fossil fuels for generation and propulsion.

Not having a freezer was also an easy decision because we never had one at home. We always preferred to eat fresh things. On the subsequent Aventuras, we did have a refrigerator and learned to preserve food for longer passages by vacuum-packing meat, as well as fish caught on the way. We’d store them in the fridge.

Diving Gear

As part of the preparations for our first voyage, I completed a British Sub-Aqua Club diving course and qualified as a diver. I realized that diving gear would be an essential item to have on board, and I had a complete set on each of my boats, with a compressor on Aventura II. A dry suit on Aventuras III and IV proved its usefulness when I had to dive in Arctic waters. We also had survival suits that we used only once, after crash-landing through the breakers on the beach below the old Cape Horn lighthouse.

The diving gear and tanks were mainly for emergencies, as I was quite a proficient free diver. I spent hours spearfishing to feed the family on our first voyage, but abandoned the sport when protecting the environment became a major concern. I continued fishing on passage, and we always caught enough fish to ensure a supply of fresh food for the crew.

Perhaps the most important item on board is the liferaft. Because it is rarely used, it is often stowed in a location that’s far from ideal. A golden rule about the liferaft is that the weakest member of the crew should be able to handle and launch it. On all my boats from Aventura II onward, the liferaft was always at the stern for easy launch.

Day Tank

All my boats up to Aventura IV had a 10.5-gallon tank mounted about 3 feet higher than the engine so the fuel was gravity-fed to it. We topped up the tank every four or five hours by manually activating a fuel transfer pump. I deliberately avoided having an automatic filling system, and instead placed the switch for the pump where it was easy to see the glass water separator and make sure the fuel was clean.

Apart from that pre-filter, there were two more filters before the fuel reached the engine. Another advantage of a day tank was that we always knew we had 10.5 gallons of fuel, even if the main tank was empty.

Mast Steps

Another useful item that can make life easier is mast steps.

They were a great bonus when we were scouting ahead, either when we were looking for a lead through the ice in the Arctic or avoiding coral heads in a tropical lagoon. These tasks became much easier when we acquired the first forward-looking sonar, but we continued to play it safe with my wife, Gwenda, keeping an eye on the depth and obstructions ahead on the cockpit-mounted forward-looking sonar. I would still do my eyeball navigation from the spreaders.

Aventura III’s mast steps probably saved our mast when one of the spreaders collapsed on the way to the Falklands. My crew was able to climb the mast quickly, retrieve the spreader, and then secure the rig with a spare spinnaker halyard.

The mast steps were also useful when it was time to check the rigging or the instruments at the top of the mast. Most of the time, we used them to climb up the mast to take photos.

Aventura IV’s Parasailor spinnaker was my favorite downwind sail, and it took me a long time to reach that high-tech level. My search for a functional downwind setup started with a twin-jib arrangement on the first Aventura. The system worked well and was easy to set up with two separate forestays. The only problem was the awful rolling, which I tried to dampen by having a storm trysail sheeted hard amidships on the mainsail track. It sort of worked, but I soon realized the solution might lie elsewhere.

A beautiful mizzen staysail, which Gwenda produced on her sewing machine, was perfect for broad reaching, usually in combination with the mainsail and poled-out genoa.

Aventura II’s first spinnaker turned me into an addict with sails that were asymmetrical and triradial, and then finally, the Parasailor. Each one played an essential role in the fast passages we achieved on our three following boats.

Shallow Draft and Centerboard

A fixed keel may be best for ocean passages, but having a shallow draft when cruising is ideal for exploring places that other boats cannot reach. It’s also safe because it lets the crew to find shelter in a protected spot in an emergency.

Aventura II’s lifting keel fulfilled both objectives, but it was only when Aventura III’s centerboard appeared on the scene that I finally had the perfect solution. It not only made it possible to reduce draft quickly, but it also improved our sailing performance.

I have often been asked how safe it is to sail on a boat without a keel. I have sailed twice across the Drake Passage to Antarctica and back, first on Skip Novak’s Pelagic and then on Aventura III. They both were centerboard boats. I once experienced winds of 50 to 60 knots, and I can vouch for either boat’s stability under such conditions. They coped impressively well with the high Southern Ocean swell, and they put any possible doubts to rest.

Aventura III and IV had an integral centerboard, which meant that when the board was raised, it fully retracted into the hull. The ballast-to-displacement ratio on each boat was 32, similar to most other cruising boats. Most integral centerboard boats have a flat bottom, so with the board fully up, they can dry out on a beach, which is yet another advantage.

In the words of Pete Goss, whose Pearl of Penzance was an Exploration 45 similar to Aventura IV: “A centerboard’s real advantage is not the ability to reduce the draft, but the peace of mind attribute. We were able to surf down Atlantic swells with the confidence of fixed ballast. Being able to lift the centerboard under such conditions meant that she didn’t trip up off the wind, and became directionally stable to the point of being docile. This, in turn, gave a more comfortable ride, de-stressed all areas of the boat, including the autopilot and power consumption.”

Shallow draft is a major attraction of centerboard yachts, but there are also some considerable performance advantages. The main role of the board is to provide lift when sailing closehauled, and to reduce leeway when reaching. With the board fully down, Aventura III drew 7 feet, 10 inches.  When sailed properly, it could point as high, or almost as high, as most keeled cruising boats. With a draft of 9 feet, 2 inches with the board down, Aventura IV performed even better than her predecessor. Aventura Zero had a draft of 2 feet, 11 inches with the two daggerboards raised, and 7 feet with them lowered.

There is a certain technique in sailing a centerboarder efficiently, not just on the wind, but off the wind as well. This is when the centerboard becomes a true asset thanks to the ability to lift the board gradually as the apparent wind goes past 135 degrees, and then continue lifting it up to the point where the board is fully retracted.

This is a great advantage, as the risk of broaching is virtually eliminated. As Goss pointed out, the absence of a keel to act as a pivot in a potential broaching situation means the boat does not tend to round up. It is a feature that has allowed me to continue keeping the spinnaker up longer than would normally have been safe. 

Fixed Pole

My favorite broad-reaching or running technique is to set up the pole independently of the sail I intend to use, so the pole is held firmly in position by the topping lift, forward and aft guys, with all three lines being led back to the cockpit. Regardless of whether I decide to pole out a foresail or spinnaker, the sheet is led through the jaws of the pole, which is then hoisted in the desired place.

Once the pole is in place and is held firmly by the three lines, the sail can be unfurled, or the spinnaker hoisted, and its douser pulled up. With the pole being independent of the sail, the latter can be furled partially or fully without touching the pole.

This setup is a great advantage when the sail has to be reduced or furled quickly, if a squall is threatening. Once the squall has passed, with the pole still in place, the sail can be easily unfurled.

When sailing under spinnaker and threatened by a squall, I preferred to douse it and lower it onto the foredeck. Once the danger passes, the spinnaker, while still in its sock, can be hoisted again and undoused.

My routine became so well tuned that I could hoist and douse the spinnaker on my own. The last time I did this was on a test sail with Aventura Zero off La Grande-Motte, France, the site of the Outremer Catamarans boatyard. I wanted to show my much younger crew how more brain and less brawn could tame a monster the size of a tennis court.

Parasailor

The major attraction of the Parasailor is that it acts as a classic triradial spinnaker and doubles as an asymmetrical sail. Its main features are the wide slot that runs from side to side about one-third down from the top, and a wing below the slot, on the forward side of the sail.

Once the Parasailor is up and poled out, the slot and wing help it stay full even in light winds. I have used it on a few occasions in as little as 5 knots of true wind, and every time, it looked like collapsing the backpressure exerted by the slot kept it full.

It is in strong winds, however, that the Parasailor comes into its own. Normally, I drop the spinnaker when the true wind reaches 15 knots. On one occasion, on the way from New Zealand to New Caledonia on Aventura III, when I saw a squall approaching, I decided to leave it up and see what happened. From 15 knots, the wind went up and up and settled at 27 knots. Aventura took it all in stride, accelerated to 9, then 10 knots and then once, when it caught the right wave, surged to 14 knots.

The Parasailor behaved as normally as before, with the wing streaming ahead and the slot wide open, almost visibly spilling the wind.

Boom Brake

This was another useful feature on my boats, as it prevented major damage in an involuntary jibe, as I experienced on three separate occasions.

The most memorable one happened on the southbound passage from Greenland, after having abandoned the attempt to transit the Northwest Passage from east to west. All the crew had left us in Nuuk, except for my daughter Doina. The northwest winds with gusts over 40 produced some nasty seas while sailing across an area of banks with depths of 100 to 130 feet. We were broad-reaching with three reefs in the mainsail, no foresail, and the centerboard fully up, a combination I had used in similar conditions in the past. Aventura IV was taking it well, occasionally surfing at 10 to 12 knots.

Everything seemed to be under control until a large wave broke violently over us, throwing us into a jibe. The boom brake controlled the swing of the mainsail, but when I reset the autopilot back on course, Doina pointed to the boom, which was hanging down at a strange angle. The gooseneck fitting was broken, but the boom was still held up by the mainsail and reefing lines. Apart from the broken casting, the boom itself was undamaged.

I secured the boom with two lines to the mast winches, and we continued sailing like that. We completed the 1,100-mile passage to St. John’s in Newfoundland in seven days without any further problems. A local workshop manufactured a new fitting, this time machined of solid aluminium.

Sailing in strong winds with just the mainsail is something I discovered by chance while crossing the Bay of Biscay along the west coasts of France and Spain on Aventura II’s maiden voyage. With the northerly wind gradually increasing, I tried to furl the mainsail into the mast, but the furling gear jammed and wouldn’t budge. The only options were to put a knife to the expensive sail, something I was reluctant to do, or continue sailing like that.

Sailing with a full mainsail and no jib in winds often gusting over 30 knots was certainly exhilarating. We made it safely into Lisbon, Portugal, where the fault was diagnosed at the top end of the furling gear, which was easily fixed. It never happened again.

Another adrenaline-spiked passage was across the Tasman Sea from Fiji to New Zealand on Aventura III. A low caught up with us, bringing favorable but increasingly strong northwest winds. Because of the uncomfortable swell, Gwenda spent much of the time in her bunk. Earlier in the trip, when the winds were lighter, I had left the steering to the windvane, but when the wind got stronger and there was a risk of jibing, I preferred to put my trust in the autopilot. The worst drawback of a full-batten mainsail is the difficulty of dropping it, even in moderate following winds, as the sail is pushed against the spreaders and the battens tend to get caught in the rigging. Usually, I prefer to keep the full mainsail as long as possible, but when the wind gets over 30 knots, I furl up the foresail and continue sailing with the deeply reefed mainsail.

This may sound like a rather unusual way of sailing, and it may not suit some boats, but Aventura coped well with it, and I got used to it.

Every now and again, I disengaged the autopilot and steered for a few minutes, enjoying the boat surfing down the waves with the speedometer rarely going below 10 knots. At one point, Gwenda put her head through the hatch and, as she later told me, saw me standing at the wheel with a huge grin on my face.

“You are absolutely crazy,” was all she said before going back to her bunk. She repeated those words more colorfully later, when the weather had calmed down. 

Essential Backups

The dual steering system on the first Aventura taught me the importance of having backups for all essential items. We always had two tenders: a smaller and a larger inflatable dinghy. The former could be quickly inflated and was easy to row, while the latter was used on longer trips. On Aventura III, we had two outboard motors, a 5 hp and a 2.5 hp backup, which we always took with us when we went on longer forays in Antarctica and Alaska.

Communications followed the same pattern. Aventura II had Inmarsat C for text, and single sideband radio for voice. Aventura III had a similar system, with an Iridium satphone added later. Aventura IV had an Iridium Pilot broadband, which allowed us to download the daily ice charts for the Northwest Passage, and let us send and receiving large files and photographs. Aventura Zero had the more advanced Iridium Certus broadband. An Iridium satphone was an emergency backup on all recent boats and was an extremely useful, and cheaper, stand-in for the more sophisticated systems.

However, I believe that the most important backup to have, especially on a shorthanded boat, is a second automatic pilot. We didn’t have one on the first Aventura because they were not available in those days, but we had reliable Aries self-steering gear. I hate to look back now at the countless hours spent at the wheel when there was no wind, and we had to motor.

On Aventura II, we had both a Hydrovane gear and a small automatic pilot. Aventura III had a Windpilot self-steering gear, an automatic pilot and a backup tiller pilot. The latter proved its worth when the main unit broke on a passage from Hawaii to Alaska. As we crossed the North Pacific High, we were becalmed in thick fog and surrounded by lots of fishing trawlers. We had to keep watch permanently on radar while maintaining course.

Aventura IV had two entirely independent B&G autopilots, which we used intermittently to ensure that both were in working order. Aventura Zero had a sophisticated emergency backup with an entirely separate second autopilot. In case of a lightning strike, the system was entirely insulated from the rest of the boat. It included an autopilot processor, ram and rudder sensor, Triton display unit, GPS and wireless wind sensor. An emergency 1,200-Ah battery, charged by a Sail-Gen hydrogenerator or the solar panels, could supply electricity not only to the autopilot and backup instruments, but also to the service and propulsion batteries if necessary. It was the ultimate belt-and-suspenders concept, in line with my almost obsessive cautious mindset.

The system proved its worth in Seville, Spain, when the adjacent dock was struck by lightning. The charge travelled through the water and reached the propellers. It put the entire propulsion system out of order. But the boat’s electrics and electronic equipment, which were not connected to anything else on board, were not affected.

I have always considered myself to be a lucky person. After 200,000 miles, I believe that the saying “fortune favors the bold” should be followed by “provided it is backed by a strong sense of prudence.” 

The post The Art of Lateral Thinking Under Sail appeared first on Cruising World.

Preparing your diesel engine for the upcoming season is a task not to be feared, as long as you follow a thorough checklist and take your time to ensure that each step is completed correctly. Here’s a guide to help you navigate the basics of the de-winterization process, and to ensure reliable performance and optimal engine health throughout the sailing season.

1. Inspect the Engine Compartment

Start by looking for any signs of damage, leaks or corrosion that may have occurred during the winter months. Check all hoses, belts and connections for cracks, wear or deterioration, and replace any damaged components as needed.

2. Change the Engine Oil and Filter

Drain the old engine oil and replace it with fresh, high-quality diesel-engine oil of the recommended grade. Also, replace the oil filter to ensure optimal engine performance and lubrication during the upcoming sailing season.

3. Check the Fuel System

Look for signs of contamination or water buildup that may have occurred during storage. Drain any water or sediment from the fuel tank, and replace the fuel filters to ensure clean fuel flow to the engine.

4. Inspect the Cooling System

Check the coolant level, and top off the coolant if necessary. Inspect hoses, clamps and connections for leaks or damage. Ensure that the raw-water intake and cooling system are free from debris or blockages that could affect engine cooling.

5. Inspect and Test the Batteries

Check the condition of the batteries, and clean the terminals to ensure good electrical connections. Charge the batteries fully. Test them to ensure that they are holding a charge and are capable of starting the engine reliably.

6. Prelubricate the Engine

Before starting the engine for the first time after winter storage, manually turn the crankshaft a few times using a wrench or socket. This helps circulate oil throughout the engine and prevents dry starts, reducing wear on engine components.

7. Start the Engine and Monitor It

Once everything is inspected, cleaned and prepared, start the engine, and let it run at idle for a few minutes to ensure proper oil circulation and fuel flow. Watch the engine gauges for abnormalities, and listen for unusual noises or vibrations that might indicate issues.

8. Do a Test Run

Take the boat out for a short ride to ensure that the engine is running smoothly and performing as expected. Monitor the engine temperature, oil pressure and other vital parameters, and address any issues immediately.

The post How to De-Winterize Your Diesel Engine for Spring Sailing appeared first on Cruising World.

Searcher, our Bowman 57 ketch, was anchored off the Hermitage Resort in Five Island Bay, Antigua—a perfect day for a swim, some boat work, and a nap. But my wife had other plans. Her authoritative voice announced, “It’s laundry day.”

“Didn’t we just have one of those a few days ago?” I asked. My wife, however, paid no heed. “You’ll wear out the clothes faster from washing them than from wearing them,” I tried, hoping to avoid what had become an all-morning exercise. She’s English—and a compulsive clothes washer.

Living full-time on a boat in the tropics with two pre-teen kids means there’s a lot of laundry. Towels, sheets, t-shirts, shorts, and bits of cloth I never knew existed fill a sail bag.

There are several ways to tackle laundry down here in the islands:

1. Do it yourself in a boat bucket.
2. Drop it off with one of the nice ladies ashore who will wash, dry, and fold it for you.
3. Find a DIY laundry where you do it yourself.
4. Use your onboard laundry if you have one. Many newer, plush yachts come with built-in washer-dryers.
   

Searcher, already 30 years old, didn’t come with a built-in laundry. Before we left Maine on this Caribbean sabbatical, Julie, the laundry queen, discovered we could bring one along. Through RV magazines and websites, she learned how people in camper-vans handle their laundry

On Laundry Day, the cockpit becomes a DIY laundromat. Out came a small, manually operated washing machine, two large rinse tubs, and an electric spin dryer. The washer is a small, white plastic drum about the size of a 5-gallon gas can, sitting within a frame. It looks like R2-D2. The drum accommodates a sheet and two pillowcases, two towels, or three pairs of shorts—one batch at a time. Add a quarter cup of laundry soap, a gallon of fresh water, screw on the top, and set our son to spinning the drum for five minutes.

Drain the wash water, wring out the soaking wet laundry, and drop it into the first rinse tub. While our son Havana gets ready for the next load, our daughter Ren is busy sloshing the first batch in fresh water. We had two plastic rinse tubs, each the size of a bushel basket.

After a few minutes of sloshing, Ren hands the wrung clothes to Julie, who puts them into the spinner. This electric device does a great job of spinning the wet clothes nearly dry. But since it uses 110V AC power, I fire up the generator. Once spun, the clothes go into a second rinse tub and back into the spinner for a final whirl.

The science behind this is simple: salt from the sea and perspiration must be thoroughly washed and rinsed out. With Havana handling the R2D2 washer, Ren in charge of the rinse cycles, and Julie manning the spinner, there’s little for me to do except observe. As a journalist, I’m trained to observe, record, and not interfere.

When the morning’s pile of damp laundry is done, we pin it to the lifelines to dry. The sun and breeze take care of the rest, drying everything in under an hour, thanks to the spinner’s hard work. Air-drying is preferred over machine drying; the sun and breeze do a better job of purifying the clothes.

Laundry Ashore

Finding a laundry ashore in the Caribbean can be a hit or miss. Marinas or boatyards might have one, or they may point you to a local laundress. You can use the Doyle Guide App to search for “laundry,” but the “nice ladies down the road” aren’t always listed. For example, Sam and Dave’s Laundry in English Harbour, which has been doing yacht laundry for 20 years, wasn’t listed until I added them to the app.

On Bequia, Daffodils on the northwest side of the harbor offers laundry service with pickup and delivery to your boat.

For advice, I turn to local knowledge. My friend Larry Tyler, skipper of The Dove, has been chartering in the Caribbean for over 30 years, so I asked him. He recommended the following:

“While dropping off and picking up guests on St. Vincent, we use Charlie Tango, who also rents moorings at Young Island Cut. In Grenada, we use Henry Safari. There’s a DIY laundry in Le Marine on Martinique, and in Marigot on St. Martin, there are several DIY laundries.”

Years ago, while spending Christmas anchored in Deshaies, a small harbor on the northwest tip of Guadeloupe, we needed to do laundry. Ashore, the village offered many restaurants, two markets, a farmer’s stand, and a pâtisserie—but no yacht services or laundromats. After consulting with local shop owners, Julie discovered the closest laundromat was miles away, in a village down the coast.

In a rental car, we set off in search of this DIY laundry, spending the afternoon in a modern, coin-operated laundromat—doing what cruising sailors love to do—laundry.

The post Laundry Day in the Caribbean: Our Quest for Clean Clothes appeared first on Cruising World.

The conventional contents of a well-supplied ditch kit no longer make sense for most cruisers. As we prepared our 47-foot Stevens Totem for a new round of ocean passagemaking, we thought more critically about what belongs in our kit. It now looks very different from the kit we packed to sail south from Puget Sound in 2008.

The point of a ditch kit is to provide resources to survive if we must abandon ship. Necessary resources are contextual, of course. Are you 5 miles or 1,500 miles from the coast? What is the nearest rescue or aid-rendering resource? Is it hours away, or days?

Advice about what to put in a ditch kit abounds, but building the best kit for your particular boat and cruising plan is not so simple. There are big lists out there of all the things we might need (for example, Quantum’s recommended list, which includes 79 lines and far more items to pack) that stem from real examples in the living memory of our cruising community where a major event could mean weeks in a raft. Books have been published, such as Adrift: 76 Days at Sea, Steven Callahan’s recounting of his 1982 ordeal. But the world has changed. Trying to build a kit that contains everything is now a liability, not a saving grace. 

Why? For two primary reasons: The time to abandon, and the time to rescue.

Regarding the time to abandon, imagine that you’re offshore when a serious event happens. Your boat is holed by debris. Or, it’s on fire. You have minimal time to launch a life raft. It’s night. The seas are rough. A crewmember is sick or injured. In this scenario, a weighty, overstuffed kit is less likely to make the transfer as you abandon ship—and if the kit’s not with you, it’s not a helpful resource. What’s better than having everything you might need is, instead, having the minimum resources required. A compact, lighter kit will be easier to grab and go, increasing the probability of the ditch kit making it into the raft with you. 

Now, think about time to rescue. In the past, this amount of time in the life raft was routinely much longer than it is today. Your time between calling a mayday and being rescued is almost certainly going to be measured in hours, not weeks. Fishing gear and hand-pumped watermakers are not necessary to survive hours or even a couple of days in a life raft.  

A friend with the U.S. Coast Guard confirmed for us that time to rescue is now startlingly short compared to what it was in past decades. Today’s sailors have better tech for signaling—EPIRBs, personal locator beacons, weatherproof and portable GPS and VHF radios. We also live in an era when rescue services are better coordinated, better equipped (think: heat-sensing cameras) and better at finding boats in distress. Starlink, even, has helped to effect faster retrieval, such as the recent case of the offshore sailboat Raindancer, which sank 15 minutes after colliding with a whale between the Galapagos and Marquesas islands. Quick coordination among cruising boats with Starlink meant the crew was picked up by other cruisers only 10 hours after abandoning ship. 

One key to a rapid rescue time is being able to call a mayday with your location to people who can facilitate your rescue. After that, think about the minimum resources you will need while waiting for help. 

Get your ditch kit gear here

For all these reasons, our ditch kit recommendations now start with an EPIRB that transmits via AIS. (See products from McMurdo and ACR. Some personal locator beacons also have AIS that can signal to help approaching rescuers find you. Have a waterproof VHF radio, ideally with digital selective calling and separately stored batteries. There also are dedicated, emergency VHF radios with long-life lithium batteries. A handheld GPS, also with batteries stored separately, is another good idea, as is a portable way to communicate offshore in weather, such as a Garmin inReach or an Iridium Go.

Next, add drinking water; weatherproof flashlights with separately stored batteries (a waterproof container for all these batteries is ideal, as is one for all the devices); and flares. Consider the traditional, pyrotechnic type as well as electronic flares. 

Beyond that, think about context. Where are you cruising? If you’re in icy waters, you may have other essential requirements, such as survival suits.

Most life rafts come with some gear packed inside. Identify what yours contains, and adjust accordingly. In late in 2023, we purchased an offshore life raft. Inside were a range of items we didn’t need, such as a signaling mirror and seasickness medication.

Our new ditch kit is about one-third the size of the kit we had when we circumnavigated on Totem. The smaller bag is much lighter and easier to carry—and we have secondary ditch kits that we can also try to bring in an emergency, but that are not essential. These secondary kits include a jerry can with fresh water that will float if thrown overboard, and that can be secured to the raft with a tether; basic first aid supplies for burns, cuts and contusions; laminated copies of personal identification documents; dense sources of nutrition, such as granola bars and peanut butter; and low-weight, low-bulk space blankets.

This approach to making modern primary and secondary ditch kits is far better than our old kit, which I could barely even lift—and which ultimately was so heavy, it could have sunk. It also was hard to keep track of all the contents that need periodic review, such as batteries for expiration dates. 

We are far from the only experienced cruisers now advocating for a different ditch-kit approach. Capt. Eugenie Russell, whose J/120 was holed by a whale while racing from Southern California to Ensenada, Mexico, has talked about how that boat’s ditch kit drifted away and sank, instead of making it to the raft. But the EPIRB had been set, and the crew had a handheld VHF radio—which meant they spent only four hours in the life raft. 

Russell now suggests having a VHF radio clipped to you. Maybe a waterproof case for a smartphone and passport clipped to you too. Perhaps a backpack-style ditch bag to keep your hands free in an emergency. 

Context really is everything, though. Don’t let anyone, including us, tell you what should be in your ditch kit. The world is rarely that simple, especially when you’re exploring it by boat.

The post It’s Time to Rethink Your Ditch Kit appeared first on Cruising World.

If, while surfing the web, you happen upon a YouTube series called Sailing Blue Pearl, during Episode 15, you might think you’ve found the reality show Survivor. There are grimaces, grunts, gritted teeth, slumped shoulders and a voice in despair, close to defeat.

But the rivalry here is not between tribes in a made-up game. The antagonist is a boat. It’s a used boat, 40 years old, that an American couple found in Mexico. It was full of potential. But at first, as each problem and roadblock surfaces, and as the dream of sailing recedes, the series is almost painful to watch.

“There is so much broken on this boat that we really have contemplated selling this boat even though we just launched it a week and a half ago,” the usually bubbly series producer, Jessica Hanna, says in a voiceover.

Four months earlier, she and her husband, Chris, had acted on his dream to live on a boat. They bought a 1984, 65-foot, 40-ton Irwin ketch. After their first week at anchor, she panned her camera around Mexico’s La Paz Bay, past neighboring yachts floating in paradise, past a visibly exhausted Chris. She had a glass of wine in her other hand and was drinking it before it went bad because the refrigerator, “fixed” five times, still wouldn’t cool. “I look at the other boats out there, honestly, and think their life must be wonderful,” she says. “We thought this life would be wonderful. But there is so much wrong with this boat that all we can think about is, have we made a mistake?”

I’ve watched a fair number of refitting videos, but none so real or so honest, so full of highs and lows. The Hannas ­struggle with virtually every issue that first-time used-boat owners typically encounter. Relentlessly recorded and professionally edited, Sailing Blue Pearl is a documentary of missed problems, misplaced trust, naiveté and the realities of buying an old boat on which to cruise.

That said, each episode also portrays grit, ingenuity and small triumphs as problems are solved one by one. Most of all, what comes across is love and commitment between a wife and ­husband as they pursue their dream, and the faith they share in God and a sunset glass of champagne. If you binge forward six months to Episode 39, “Welcome to Our Home,” and watch the Hannas walk through their yacht, beautifully restored and cruising the Sea of Cortez, you’ll be struck, as I was, by their resolve and vision.

Their story begins in 2005 in a ballroom-dancing class in Redding, California, where Jessica, 45 and an Oregon transplant, hoped to meet new friends. By chance, she and Chris, 65, got paired for a waltz. As schmaltzy as it sounds, they were engaged four months later. They married in January 2006. Their wedding waltz is preserved in Episode 29, “A Love Story.”

After traveling to 19 countries on vacation, Chris retired from civil engineering, and the couple spent two years seeing 30 states while living in an RV. At some point, they drove it to La Paz, Mexico, and began looking for a boat. 

The Irwin, which had been chartered for $12,000 a week, was packed with amenities designed to make living and entertaining comfortable—luxurious, actually, by used-boat standards. It had a good-size salon, four staterooms, a spacious galley, three heads, a generator, a watermaker, an inverter, five air conditioners, two freezers, a refrigerator, hot water, a washer and dryer, a radar, navigation aids, and all the displays that a yacht might need.

While the sails, winches and spars seemed to be in good shape, previous surveys were shallow. Rather than commission another one, they asked local electricians who had worked on the boat to check its many systems. During the sea trial, “everything turned on…there was no problem,” Jessica says. “I mean everything ran, and then we bought the boat, and it was like magic—because there was much that did not turn on for us ever again, until we had it repaired or replaced.”

Chris adds: “The previous owner was less than forthcoming with regard to the condition of the boat. Let’s just put it that way.”

Wearing what they now admit were rose-colored glasses, they paid $200,000 for Jersey Girl II and renamed it Blue Pearl for the rare pearls that were once cultured nearby. The grins on their faces in Episode 3, “We Bought a Boat,” didn’t last long.

What follows in Jessica’s weekly video series is a medley of ­color exploring La Paz’s tourist port, and visits to beaches with their two dogs in their dinghy mixed with daily work on the boat. Two scenes that stick in my head: Chris emerging from yet another hatch, wearing kneepads and a headlamp, holding a broken wire or clogged tube or the rusted Vice-Grip that held the autopilot together; and their daily sunset toasts with a kiss.

They had budgeted $50,000 for upgrades. As of this writing, they were at $75,000, much of it spent on technicians who came and went erratically. A windlass rebuild set them back $1,000, and though they have a 620-gallon diesel-fuel capacity, they installed 500 watts of solar panels on the cockpit frame to charge new lithium batteries. A Starlink antenna and subscription significantly improved internet communications.

Their YouTube channel, with 65 videos, has attracted 2,875 subscribers and more than 130,000 views of their finished walk-through. Comments have helped them cope, tweaking what they should have done, and praising them for their pluck. 

“You two are such great inspiration,” Greta Geankoplis wrote. “The dream of cruising, and the love for it that can follow later, almost always begins with complete ignorance of sailing.”

Neil Campion commented: “Don’t give up. Cruising is taking the good with the bad.”

Another fan wrote, “Blue Pearl—my new National Geographic.”

Stan Owens added: “And we had all thought RV life was challenging. Think the S.S. Owens will stick to life on land a bit longer.”

After a year as boat owners and 1,100 miles up the Sea of Cortez, Chris and Jessica plan to cross the Gulf of California to Mazatlan on Mexico’s mainland to watch the solar eclipse in April 2024. From there, they may enter the Panama Canal to cruise the Caribbean.

When you watch their videos, filled not just with angst, but also with the beauty around them in the Sea of Cortez—breaching whales, dolphins, fresh fish caught off the stern, friends and family laughing, a cup of coffee in a quiet dawn—one can be forgiven for thinking that Chris and Jessica Hanna have nothing to prove. They are, in real time, starring in their own sailing dream.

The post The Reality of Fixing Up an Old Boat appeared first on Cruising World.

As many a seasoned boat owner can attest, onboard systems are the leading cause of technical issues on boats that have more than a rudimentary electrical system. But most of these problems are preventable. They arise from a failure to abide by core design and installation principles.

To take a deep dive into both design and installation issues, OceanPlanet Energy (OPE) is sponsoring an intensive two-day seminar developed and presented by tech guru Nigel Calder, author of the best-selling Boatowner’s Mechanical and Electrical Manual.

The seminar is grounded in the American Boat and Yacht Council (ABYC) standards for safe installations, though it is not an ABYC class because, according to Calder: “You can have a safe installation that nevertheless functions poorly. We will go beyond the standards to explain how to optimize performance.”

Topics include key design criteria for both DC and AC systems; how to keep batteries in a healthy state; newer technologies that are transforming the performance of electrical systems; sizing and installing electric circuits in compliance with ABYC standards; critical safety issues related to AC systems; corrosion; and grounding systems. The course curriculum will highlight commonly seen electrical installation errors, including on new boats, and how to rectify them—including hands-on terminal crimping practice, because “poorly made terminals are the bane of many an otherwise decent electrical installation.”

Calder will showcase a demonstration board that contains core pieces of equipment referenced in the presentation, which, in tandem with related equipment supplied by OPE, will be used to simulate electrical faults and explore multimeter troubleshooting techniques.

“We’ll be covering a lot of ground,” says Calder, who acknowledges the difficulty in absorbing such a volume of information in two days. “While the seminar is designed to be accessible to the inexperienced, that doesn’t mean it will be easy, even for those with prior experience, including some professionals.” 

Class sizes will be limited to maximize interaction with the participants. At a minimum, participants should walk away with the ability to check a boat for common installation mistakes, to understand and be able to do basic wiring and electrical installations, and to be able to safely conduct simple multimeter troubleshooting procedures that will enable most electrical problems to be identified.

“We send everyone home with a to-do list of critical checks for any boat, and a deck of almost 600 slides for future reference. The objective is to raise the confidence levels of boat owners, and to provide professionals with a perspective that goes beyond ABYC standards to optimized functionality.”

OPE will hold the seminars in the spring and fall (April 17-18 and October 29-30, 2024), just outside of the main tourist season, in the newly renovated Hyatt Place hotel in downtown Portland, Maine. The Hyatt is situated in the center of the vibrant old district, surrounded by historic buildings, with excellent restaurants and numerous places of interest within walking distance. The hotel has a free shuttle service to and from the easy-to-transit Portland (Maine) regional airport. Buffet-style breakfast is included in the seminar’s discounted room rate. OPE will provide lunch and refreshments throughout the day. Seminar participants are on their own for dinner.

To take advantage of this unique opportunity to hone your systems skills under the guidance of expert Nigel Calder, participate in a strictly limited and intense marine electrical education opportunity, and enjoy Portland, Maine, in the spring, contact OceanPlanet Energy for more information at seminar@oceanplanetenergy.com.

The post Sharpen Your Knowledge of Boat Electrical Systems appeared first on Cruising World.

Cruising World Editor at Large Tim Murphy had a project pop up for his Passport 40 Billy Pilgrim, so he knew just where to go for supplies. Before getting started, Tim stopped at West Marine to pick up all of the gear he needed to install a new set of solar panels on his sailboat:

• Solar Panels
• Electronic Controller(s)
• Cable (Duplex conductor, sized per ABYC)
• Wire Terminals (preferably heat-shrink)
• In-Line Fuse Holders (2 per panel)
• Fuses
• Cable Ties
• Cable Loom

With the help of the pros at West Marine and Navtronics, Tim and the crew successfully installed new solar panels and is ready for his next journey aboard Billy Pilgrim.

Got a project? Need some supplies? Stop by your local West Marine or visit www.westmarine.com before getting started.

The post How to Install Solar Panels on Your Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

Our pal Ian Scott, the skipper of the Swan 36 Coco, was in need of some new rigging in order to set sail this season. With the help of our friends at West Marine, Cruising World walks through the steps to re-rig your sailboat. Want to get started on your own project? Make sure to visit the Rigging Shop at your local West Marine or visit their website.

The post How to Re-Rig a Sailboat appeared first on Cruising World.

My wife, Tenley, and I do a lot of coastal cruising in New England, mostly short 6- to 20-mile hops on our 1972 Pearson 36, Snoek. I did a refit to Snoek in 2016 in my backyard that was chronicled in a series of CW articles, and we have since done tons of great cruising on her. One thing I installed in the original refit was an Engel 12-volt DC/110-volt AC free-standing cooler that draws about 3 amps when it kicks (it runs off the Solbian dodger-mounted solar panels) and is super-efficient. It’s perfect for chicken, fish, milk, butter and other perishables. But where do we keep the beers and soft drinks cold?

That was something we still needed to address.

At first we used the original built-in ice chest to starboard, but insulation technology in 1972 wasn’t so dialed in; a block of ice would last about 12 hours on a good, cool day in June but not on a scorcher in August. I suggested to Tenley a proper compressor-style refrigeration system for the old ice-chest space, but “the boss” said: “No, I like using ice. Let’s improve that system some and keep our little boat simple.” Music to my ears.

I did some research and figured out that there was enough room in the original ice-chest space to fit a Yeti Tundra 45 cooler without having to rebuild the whole galley countertop. I did have to enlarge the access hole to the ice chest by about 3 inches on the long side and about 2 inches on the short side. This was done with a jigsaw. I then filled the exposed foam edges with wood strips that I epoxied in place with Thixo Flex. I then filled, faired and painted it. It looked like new.

Next, I built a subfloor in the bottom of the ice-chest space from Starboard, first measuring it with a cardboard template. I then cut it to fit with cleats on the side of the box fastened with stainless self-tapping screws. Obviously, the Yeti cooler had to be lashed down in the space, and this was achieved with 1/8-inch, low-stretch Spectra tie-downs through newly drilled holes in the top lip of the cooler. I looped the Spectra through two side holes directly below the Yeti in the starboard subfloor.

RELATED: Brewing Beer on a Boat

The last thing I had to do was make a new, larger lid for the Yeti’s access hole. I used a piece of 3/8-inch plywood (varnished on all four edges and the bottom), and with more Thixo epoxy, glued a veneer of ¼-inch teak to the top. The teak was then oiled to seal it from spills and the hard environment of the galley.

To sum it all up, it works like a champ, and the ice lasts for days with no worries about keeping the house batteries topped off—just the occasional trip to get a bag of ice and another 12 pack of beer. The two items seem to last about the same time!

Award-winning marine ­photographer Onne van der Wal is a frequent contributor to CW. His most recent Rizzoli coffee-­table book is Sailing America. For more on his work, visit his website.

The post Installing a Cooler in the Galley appeared first on Cruising World.